


the horrible habits we acquire

by plinys



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-16
Updated: 2015-09-16
Packaged: 2018-04-21 02:35:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4811708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plinys/pseuds/plinys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been five years since they last saw each other. The team which they all used to hold so dear having grown apart over the years. Lance Hunter, now the director of S.T.R.I.K.E., doesn't see much of the old team (other than Fitz who went to join S.T.R.I.K.E. as well), and certainly doesn't expect to see anyone. Until an incident brings his new team in direct contact with the Secret Warriors. Skye, now known as Daisy Johnson, follows the trail of a wayward former member of her team, to the wreckage of a S.T.R.I.K.E. safe house, and teams up with some old friends to save the day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the horrible habits we acquire

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was originally meant to be just a small one shot for a friend, and ended up turning into the giant monster which is now my AoS Big Bang for Round Three! Basically this is just me trying to mesh comics canon and show canon, while pretending that everything ends after the Season Two finale!
> 
> Thanks to Amanda for the Beta. And to my wonderful artist, whose art I will link up here when it's posted!
> 
> I hope you all enjoy the fic! :)

There were many perks of being the head of an international counter-terrorist organization.

Perks, that he never would have had in any of his previous occupations.

One of these many perks, was that he had a choice when it came to which jobs he took. He could look over a series of files; skipping over the boring ones, the difficult ones, and the ones in god awful places, in order to select the _ideal_ job.

This, of course, served as a drastic difference from the philosophy under which he had functioned for the vast majority of his life. Which was, as it had always been: _his loyalty belonged to the highest bidder at any given moment in time_.

He didn’t need a highest bidder now.

His paycheck remained steady and substantial regardless of whether he spent the week shooting out neo-Nazi terrorists in Portugal or sitting in his office admiring the very impressive wall to ceiling fish tanks.

“Commander Hunter, could you look at this, sir?”

“That depends, is it more frozen remains of what used to be human flesh, or is it actually something interesting?”

The agent, whose name he had already forgotten, makes some half-mumbled comment in reply to that, which amounts to a simple “Nevermind.”

Still, there were downsides to his current position, such as standing out in the middle of a field (or what used to be one) and looking at the burn remains of some safe house.

How whoever had made the attack had found of the location of his agents was beyond him, but they’d get to the bottom of this soon enough, and then Lance would go pour himself a long drink and watch the sharks until he forgot what freeze-dried flesh looked like.

Probably bundle up in some blankets too, because it felt like he was standing in the middle of Antarctica rather than the English countryside.

“Commander Hunter-“

“I swear to God, Agent-” He starts, though stops when he turns around to see his personal assistant standing there, rather than one of the masses of agents.

Judy gives him a little smirk, the Bluetooth headset in her ear shifting along with the rest of her face, before finishing her sentence, “There’s a Daisy Johnson from the Secret Warriors here to see you?”

“The what?”

“That’s just the name she gave me, I’ll look into it as soon as we’re out of here.”

He nods at that, scanning the crowd of agents for a second to see if he sees anybody standing out from the group, but his quick scan is unsuccessful.

“Is she hot?”

Judy, who is used to this by now, doesn’t even appear to be surprised. “I’d say, she’s a solid eight, sir.”

“Wedding ring?”

“Has that ever stopped you before?”

“Point taken, but still?”

“Not that I could see.”

Well, in that case, “And you’re sure she’s not a reporter?”

Lance was about sick of reporters. Hungry little things that appeared every time somebody’s powers caused an incident, splashing up headline accusing S.T.R.I.K.E. of not being able to get their jobs done, and demanding that the _Avengers_ or someone else be held accountable for all of these incidents.

“No, sir.”

“Alright then, bring Miss Johnson over.”

His assistant disappears a second later, to do just thank, returning mere moments later with the woman in question.

There’s something about her that is strikingly familiar. Perhaps it’s her eyes, ones that lock onto him in a second, skipping over the carnage before them to focus on him. Or maybe it’s the way she holds herself, casual and confident in her body, but with a sense of _something else_ lurking under the surface.

It isn’t until she says, “A solid _eight_ really Hunter, you need to hire somebody with better taste in women, if I’m an _eight_ ,” that it all clicks, “I can’t imagine who's a ten.”

“Have you ever seen the Black Widow naked?”

“Have you?”

“Not yet,” he admits, “but I’d imagine that’s what a ten would look like.”

“You’re awful.”

“You cut your hair?”

“Really? That’s what you’re starting with? We haven’t seen each other in, what has it been, five years? And _that’s_ what you say, not,” and for this part she adopts that terrible British accent she’s never quite learned to do properly, “ _’Oh it’s so good to see you? How are you? How is your team? What brings you to this side of the pond?_ ’”

“It was that or the name,” he admits, before adding, “You look good Skye.”

“More than an eight?”

“Of course.”

After the incident with the Inhumans, Skye had just disappeared, he’d always assumed she’d gone back to working with them.

When he’d asked Coulson about in, in his most casual of voices, he’d been told that it was _classified_ and _above his pay grade_. Apparently being one of the only two people that had believe in Coulson, wasn’t enough to get him access to all the secrets the director had held dear.

That was in part why he’d set off back to England.

S.T.R.I.K.E had once been a subset of SHIELD, a group which was meant to covertly deal with incidents regarding powered peoples and dangerous criminals. Though when the original group had turned out to be HYDRA, the name and all of its departments had been retired.

That is until he brought it back to life, a side project. The group that was now more separate from SHIELD than a part of it. Technically he still had annual meetings back at SHIELD HQ but other than his annual reports, Lance was free to run the organization as he liked.

Even so, tracking down old friends, had never been something he’d gotten around to doing.

Which was something he regrets now, as Skye stands in front of him, talking in loose terms about what they were looking at.

“So this arsehole was one of yours?”

“Sort of,” she admits, “More like an old friend. We had run into each other before, and when I saw him again recently I extended an invitation to join my team, to make things right. That didn’t end too well.”

“He killed my agents, Skye, there’s no need to put it lightly.”

She flinches back from the name for a second, it’s a minuscule thing that he almost misses, before speaking up,  “I think he thought he was attacking SHIELD. He has some old grudges-“

“Who doesn’t?”

She lets out a huff of laughter at that, “Well he took that grudge more seriously than others. I expected something to happen, just not something on this scale.”

“Nobody would have,” Lance agrees, “Why don’t we get some drinks, and you tell me everything we need to know about this guy?”

“It’s not that easy?”

“Why not?”

“We’re dealing with a powered individual,” she replies in an obvious tone, “One who is good with computers – not as good as me but – if he can track us down, that’s more innocent civilians at risk. We need a secure location, and I doubt you know some place with a bar that meets this level of discretion?”

“It’s not exactly a bar, but I know a place.”

“What do you mean?”

“I might know a place, where your wannabe Jack Frost might have some trouble?”

“Sir, we shouldn’t-“ He silences the agent with a dismissive wave of his hand.

Protocols could go to hell.

This wasn’t just some random outside agency assist. Skye was different. He’d known her before her powers had shown up, back when she was just as normal as he was. Lance had watched her paint Hydra logo’s on paper targets before opening fire on them, and watched her take eight shots in a row without even batting an eye.

This was Skye, no matter what she said, and he knew she could be trusted.

“How would you like to see my office?”

\---

“Looks like Fitz got his fish tank, after all,” Skye says. “Seems a little bit risky though, a whole underwater base.”

“The glass is bulletproof, stronger than bullet proof, Fitz designed the whole thing,” Lance explains, “Nothing short of a nuke could break it, and when Betsy’s around even the nuke would fall short.”

She’s staring into the glass walls of his office, watching the fish swim by, with the smallest twitch of a smile on her face. For a second, she looks like the Skye he remembered, the one who teased him with a hint of laughter on the edge of her lips at any given moment.

Then she turns around at the ‘serious business’ face is back on, just like that Skye is gone and _Daisy Johnson_ is in her place.

“Who’s Betsy?”

“Another agent, it’s classified,” he says quickly with a grimace, hating the word _classified_ ever as he says it.

Skye’s grimace matches his own, though she shrugs and doesn’t press the issue.

The secret may not be his to tell, but Lance has never exactly been a fan of keeping secrets, especially from friends. Which was why he had always made a better mercenary than a spy, and a better spy than a _director_. Directors had to keep far too many secrets for his liking.

“Speaking of agents,” Lance says, handing her the beer he had promised, “Tell me about Mr. Ice Cube.”

“His name is Donnie Gill, and you’ve met before, sort of,” Skye explains, taking a swing of her drink, “It was when we both joined the team shortly after,” she pauses clearly trying to think of a right word, before settling on, “We first encountered the Diviner, there was an incident regarding a former SHIELD trainee who was brainwashed by Hydra and froze a bunch of people. Ring any bells?”

It did.

“Yeah, I remember,” Lance replies, “You called me Scottish on that mission.”

“I, what?”

“Trainspotting reference.”

“Oh my god,” Skye rolls her eyes, “I can’t believe you remembered that.”

“I took a good deal of offense, at the time.”

“You would.”

“Anyways, I thought you killed that guy? The whole sniper thing, I mean I didn’t see it cause May shot me, in case you’d forgotten that bit-“

“Oh no, everyone remembers that.”

“-But you killed him, didn’t you?”

“Apparently not.”

\---

One beer turns into six and then to ten, and suddenly they’ve broken out the wine to pretend to be classy, while all talks of work get brushed off quickly enough.

He’s done his job, got what she needed to know out and sent it off to his assistant to sort through, and now,the fun part can begin.

“I still can’t believe your fucking base is underwater,” Skye drawls, her voice slower now, she’s laying on one of the many couches in his office, sprawled out in a lazy yet graceful way, “It’s just so you. Weird as fuck.”

“I’m taking that as a compliment.”

“Of course, you are,” she teases, “It was Fitz’s idea though? That’s what you said, right?”

“It was a team effort.”

“Yeah, I bet… How is he?”

“Good? He’s my head of Research and Development, probably does more work than I do – scratch that, he definitely does. Works his fucking arse off.”

“That’s good, he was so lost before, I remember after the coma and then with what happened to Trip,” she falls silence then, no doubt thinking of all the people they’ve lost over the year.

When he raises his bottle in a silent toast to their fallen friends, Skye raises her own in a toast as well, and they both take a long drink that does nothing to help with the memories.

“I want to see him.”

“He’s probably turned in for the night,” Lance says, even though he knows it’s not true. Fitz never gets to sleep at a decent hour, hardly sleeps at all, really.

“I can’t believe he left SHIELD. I mean _you_ , I expected that, Mr. Commitment Phobia. But not, Fitz, it seemed like SHIELD was the only thing he believed in.”

“Yeah well, we get along, _”_ Lance shrugs, “A bit like a brother to me – a significantly more Scottish one, but…”

He trails off, but Skye seems to understand the unspoken words.

“Speaking of siblings, I saw your sister the other day,” Skye muses, “Or like a month ago, she was working with AIM people, I couldn’t believe Jemma would leave SHIELD.“

“It’s undercover work,” Lance says quickly, “She got a taste for it once, and couldn’t stop. Coulson tells me she’s one of their best covert agents now, could give Bobbi a run for her money.”

“I’ll bet,” Skye says, “I want to say something to her, a hug would have been nice, Jemma always gave great hugs. Course, I would rather not have her accidentally use her power sucking abilities, so its best not to.”

He grimaces at that. After the Kree stone had sucked Jemma up, and after she’d come back things had been different. Her distrust of inhumans and powered people had manifested into gifts of their own. She’d run herself down trying to research and understand them, it’d had been a dark time for everyone.

Lance had tried to get her to come join S.T.R.I.K.E. as well, but the cards hadn’t played out right.”

‘Speaking of Bobbi, I hear her and Hawkeye are a thing now, that’s tough yeah?”

“That is just a rumor,” Lance informs her, “Hawkeye’s actually got this family off in Kentucky, big house with a farm and everything.”

“No way?”

“Way.”

“Huh, who’d have guess that? Then are you two still, you know?”

“No, god no, she’s an Avenger now, which is worse than being a spy and actually was with Captain Marvel, last time I checked.”

Skye grins at that, “So turned off by you, that she gave up on men forever?”

“You wound my ego,” Lance says, tossing a stress ball from his desk her way, though his drunk aim is a little off, and instead of hitting her it bangs against the glass walls of his office aquarium.

“But you’re single then? No demonic ex-wives or pretty secretaries in your life?”

“Not this time, love.”

There’s a second where he thinks something might happen. Skye stands up from the couch, gives him a smile that is familiar, that reminds him of the _one_ time they did something like this before. When they’d both been upset and a little lost in the world, and he had needed the touch of someone human to remind him that the whole world had been real.

They never talked about it again, everything had got set into motion – Skye had to deal with a crazy Hydra ex, and Lance’s ex-wife had turned up at SHIELD HQ – and they’d just left it as one really good night.

A night that he certainly wouldn’t have minded a repeat performance of.

“I’m too drunk for this,” Skye says, even though she’s barely slurring her words and looks more alert than ever, “You got a place I can crash around here?”

\---

Judy’s gotten back to him with the notes and they’re nothing impressive. A few incident reports over the past few years regarding similar incidents, minor things, nothing that would have been on S.T.R.I.K.E's radars as a serious case. Someone in their tech division is working on running scans of every accessible camera in the country looking for a face that looks similar to the SHIELD Academy photo dated years back.

No serious leads.

The first twenty-four hours were the most critical in these cases, they either got the rouge powered individual soon, or they’d lose him for months. People who didn’t want to get caught, had a way of slipping through the cracks if they didn’t cause more incidents.

Lance used to admire that, slipping through the cracks had been one of his favorite past times before, but now he hated those cracks.

There was only one cure bad news: tea.

Black tea, specifically.

Proper tea, like his mother had always made it, with just one cube of sugar. Though it rested in novelty mug that one of the agents had gotten him as a holiday gift some years ago – an octopus mug to match their underwater base.

Skye snorts at the mug when she sees it in his hand.

“You’re like a walking parody,” she says, in way of greeting.

Fitz, who had been in the middle of showing Skye his latest prototype for who knows what, gives him a friendly grin, “You look bloody awful.”

“I might be bit hungover,” he admits, “You haven’t developed a magical hangover cure yet, have you?”

“Not yet. I’ll work on it, after the-“ Fitz makes a wavy motion with his hand, before settling on the word, “Exploding pen?”

“Is there any practical application of that,” Skye asks, in an amused voice.

“Uh for one, looking like James Bond?”

“Shouldn’t you be M?”

“We both know I can’t pull of Judi Dench.”

“I don’t know, we could get you a wig. I’m pretty good with makeup,” Skye offers.

“Let’s not and say we didn’t.”

\---

“So essentially your guys found nothing.”

“I don’t see any of your Secret Warriorssweeping down with a file of useful information,” Lance says, “Speaking of which, the name of your group is super pretentious, has anybody ever mentioned that?”

She rolls her eyes, “You’re the one that has an _executive office_. If anybody is pretentious it’s the rich boy, who decided he wanted to be a mercenary, and then ended up essentially being the CEO of a spy group. What, Hunter Enterprises not good enough for you?”

“Step-Dad worked for Roxxon… Works for? I’m not exactly sure which. Is that terrible of me?”

Skye shrugs. “Aren’t they really fucking sketch?”

He returns her shrug.

“I don’t phone home much,” Lance admits, “Pretty sure they think I died years ago.”

“That’s depressing,” Skye muses, in a far too casual voice, shrugging her shoulders eventually, “Then again mine turned out to be essentially supervillains. Which considering that, a distant parent working for a sketchy pharmaceutical company isn’t too bad.”

They fall into silence after that. Lance unsure what to say. There’s express condolences for this, and it’s not like he would anyways. Still there’s no way to say, ‘ _your parents tried to kill me and all my friends, before trying to kill each other, and I’m happy their dead and/or brainwashed’_ without sounding like a complete douchebag.

Luckily he doesn’t have to say anything, because Skye’s back to skimming the file his agents and made up for them. She’s sitting on his desk, the file spread out against her thighs, as she drums her fingers against the part of her leg not covered by the pages.

Lance tries to look anywhere but there, because pants she’s wearing a tight enough to be a second skin, and apparently not having seen someone in five years does nothing to curb the attraction he had felt to her since the first time they’d met.

In fact, it might have increased things.

The short hair was even starting to grow on him. And while he had never been into brunettes Skye appeared once again to be a sort of exception to all of his previous rules.

“You’re staring at me again.”

“I’m trying not to,” he says, in his defense. It’s a weak defense.

Skye snorts, “I don’t mind. Just don’t be a fucking creep.”

“I’ll have you know I am the exact opposite of a creep, and am definitely only thinking things saints would.”

“Shame,” she replies, “Because I was really hoping for something else.”

“Like what,” Lance asks, hoping he doesn’t sound too hopeful.

“I was going to kiss you last night,” is her casual reply.

“You could do that now?”

“I’m considering it.”

“What’s holding you back?”

He pays close attention, as her tongue darts out, to wet her lips in a way that is clearly meant to be an invitation. An invitation that he intends to take, as he leans in towards her.

Of course, things can never be that easy.

“Sir,” the voice of his assistant comes over his office speaker system, “There’s been an incident.”

“I’m a little busy,” Lance says, his lips inches from Skye’s and she silently laughs against his, the quiet puffs of air brushing over him.

“It’s important.”

“So is this. Pawn it off on somebody else, _anybody else_.”

He can hear the long suffering sigh of his assistant over the speakers, and if she gives up now he’s willing to offer her a pay raise, just so he can get back to what he was doing. But her next words make that impossible, “Your ice man just hit another one of our safe houses.”

“Fuck.”

“Duty calls?

His eyes meet hers, and a second later she nods. “Alright, we’re on our way over there.”

\---

At least, he didn’t have any agents at this one. There’s no bodies to try and recover, no family to send medals of honor off too, but the safe house looks more like an ice skating rink than an actual building.

“How does this keep happening?”

“I’m going to take a wild guess and say evil ice powers,” Skye offers, from beside him.

“Thank you, I had no idea before you make that incredibly wise deduction.”

“Sarcasm never suited you, Hunter.”

“Excuse you, I’m the master at sarcasm,” Lance says, rightfully offended, “Among other things.”

“Like what?”

“Pardon me,” the voice of useless agent number four, interrupts his witty comeback, “But could you two stop flirting and focus on the present situation.”

“We weren’t-“

“Oh no, we totally were,” Skye replies, bumping her hips into his, “But we’re super serious now.”

True to her word, Skye adopts a serious face that matches the one he had seen the day before. It’s all business, the face of somebody who takes their job too seriously. She looks like a detective working to crack a case, and while that’s cool, there isn’t too much more to figure out here.

Obviously Donnie has fled the scene. Either bored because there was nobody here to turn into ice or simply having finished whatever goal he had set out to do. There’s no hint to what direction he could have gotten off too, and even if they were it wouldn’t lead too much.

The best thing to do when it came to powered individuals was to watch for them to make a move again. Sure maybe asking around to the locals if they saw anything could be useful (he’d done a fair number of that in his SHIELD days), but the reality of it was that they weren’t detectives. At least this time he was lucky enough to know what they were going after thanks to Skye’s help.

Not that Skye seems to understand that, seeing as she’s crouched on the ground examining bits of ice as though they hold secret information.

“Why don’t we let the other agents sort through that,” Lance offers, “We can head back to the office-“ _pick up where we left off_ “-And wait for some news?”

“Actually, I might be able to look into somethings. I have a few people, with connections, that might be able to get us some information,” Skye says after a moment, standing up from where she had been crouched on the ground. She gives him a smart smile before adding, “On my own.”

“I thought this was going to be a team effort, like old times?”

“It will be,” she says, like it’s a promise, “I just think my Secret Warriors might have a better time tracking Donnie down than your little agents did.”

“I thought you used to be the hacker who tracked people down? You outsourcing now?”

“At some point I guess I got promoted,” Skye shrugs, “And now nobody ever lets me do the fun stuff.”

“Sounds bloody awful,” Lance grimaces.

“You would know.”

\---

He’s just about thinking that he needs a distraction, a way to stop staring at the clock, when Fitz shows up in his office – not bothering to knocking, because it’s after midnight by now and they should both be asleep instead of working.

“This is my fault,” are the first words out of Fitz’s mouth, “Donnie, he’s the kid from – or not a kid, anymore, but I met him at the academy.”

“You guys went to school together?”

“No, no, before you joined the team – there was – were these ice attacks at the academy, and Coulson had us go in – didn’t know it was him, figured we could – could fix things, but then this happened. And then SHIELD fell, and everyone got out – so I figure it’s my fault then? All our agents dead? ‘Cause I didn’t do my bloody job and stop him back at the academy.”

“Fitz.”

“Just, don’t,” Fitz shakes his head, fingers going down to fumble at the holster attached to his belt until he pulled forth something far too familiar, placing it on Lance’s desk, “Promise me, if you – when you have to take him out, use this so – so it won’t hurt much.”

“Done deal,” he agrees easily.

Though he keeps a wary eye on Fitz’s features. Agreeing with him hadn’t been enough to smooth out the anxiety that seemed to have the other man’s eyebrows knitting together.

Lance has never been good with comfort. His usual method for this sort of thing was to hand somebody a beer, or a cup of tea, and pretend that everything would be alright even when it wouldn’t. That was half the reason why he’d become a functioning alcoholic himself, lost too many people, too many good people, people like Izzy and Idaho who had been in the crossfire of other things.

It always felt easier to blame himself, and to forget that blame by tipping the glass back.

There was probably a better way to do that. Some shrink might even call him an alcoholic (a functioning one though) and offer better coping mechanisms, but in this case…

“You look like you need a drink?”

And judging by the relieved look on Fitz’s face that had been exactly what he had been hoping to hear.

“Something strong please.”

There’s no more talk after that, not of serious things. They’ve got drinks in their hands _shaken not stirred_ like proper secret agents. And instead they talk about everything else, about exploding pens and whether or not Fitz could recreate Coulson’s whole flying car thing on something more covert.

“You want a quinjet, but as a car?”

“We’d probably need to make it underwater, that way I could drive it to home base.”

Fitz rolls his eyes, “Yes, because a – a bloody invisible submarine car is much more practical.”

Lance can’t help but laugh, and a second later Fitz is joining him. The tension that had lined his shoulders since he’d entered Lance’s office seems to melt away at once.

Though he has to ruin the pleasant mood by asking the one question Lance had been avoiding asking himself, “So you and Skye- that’s a thing?”

“We’re working together on this case, sort of like old times?”

Fitz shakes his head. “You know what I mean? Are you two – what you usually do, with pretty agents from other organizations?”

One of the downsides of having Fitz as a drinking buddy was that he knew far too much about Lance’s past relationships, for them to really function on a business level without certain things coming up. He could still remember the kid whose hands had shook as he fumbled open his beer and said that he’d never had a girlfriend before.

They’d all changed over the past few years.

“It’s different with Skye,” Lance says, “We nearly did, earlier, but it wouldn’t be like the rest, you know? She’s special.”

“This is the part where I should give you the shovel talk, yeah? The, if you hurt her, I’ll – Well, I’ll,” he pantomimes slitting his throat, and Lance gets the hint well enough.

“Consider me successfully shoveled.”

Fitz grins at him, “I’m serious – I could do it – invent something, ruin your life.”

“I’m quivering in my boots.”

“You'd better be.”

\---

Two days in a row waking up with a hangover is nothing close to his record, but it’s still not the most pleasant of feelings. His neck hurts from sleeping on the couch in his office, and the two painkillers he pops barely do anything to ease the ache.

But there is one plus side, that when he manages to stumble out of his office, into a shower, and then back to his office Judy is sitting there with a cup of coffee in one hand and a message in the other.

“Paper. People still use that?”

“I took the liberty of printing out the message for you,” Judy explains, “I figured bright lights on a tiny screen might hurt your head.”

Familiarity with a hungover Lance Hunter was one of the many requirements of working for S.T.R.I.K.E. apparently.

“I should give you a raise.”

“You really should.”

With a small nod, and a mental note to do just that, he slips into his office, folding open the piece of paper with Skye’s message on it. Rather than the professionally worded brief he might have expected working with somebody else, Skye’s note is casual and fun, the sort of note he might have got taped to his door back when they had both been working for SHIELD.

_Why do shady people always hang about night clubs? So inconvenient. JT (a friend) says that he’s heard reports of a guy matching Donnie’s description hanging around one. We could check it out? Tonight? Gave your secretary with poor taste in women the address, meet me there?_

As soon as he finishes reading the letter, he presses the button to active his office’s communication system, “Judy?”

“The address is already saved in your GPS, sir.”

\---

“You know I always imagined picking you up from a place like this,” Lance says, as he takes in the sight of her leaning against the wall outside the club, “Though I usually imagined you a lot more drunk and a lot less armed.”

Skye rolls her eyes and pushes away from the wall, “Is that supposed to be some sort of underhanded compliment?”

“Something like that.”

Her dress is tight, the sparkly sort of things that pretty birds wore out to clubs like these. It left almost nothing to the imagination – how she fit a gun under that thing was completely beyond him. And then there was the heels, Lance had always been a leg guy (which was probably why his ex-wife had been taller than him), and Skye’s looked divine tonight.

“You keep doing the staring thing, and it’s cute when you think I don’t notice,” Skye says, “But we’re both highly trained spies, so I do notice.”

“I thought you didn’t go to the academy.”

“Neither did you.”

She’s inches away from him now. And if it weren’t for the thumping of the music on the inside of the club reminding him why they were here, he might have forgotten all about the case they were dealing with.

Instead, he forcibly tears his gaze away from her to focus on the lights of the club’s sign. “When are we going to do something about this?”

“About what?”

“You know what,” he prompts, “This sexual tension, it’s eating me up inside, I mean if you’re worried I’ll rock your world too hard-“

“Oh please.”

“I’m sure most these buildings are up to code, a little earthquake never hurt anyone.”

Her eye rolls is playful, and her hands curl against the lapels of his shirt jacket with something almost like familiarity, “You know I like to think I’ve got my powers under better control than that.”

“I happen to have it on good authority, that I am a master of oral. I could probably get letters of recommendation,” he says, “Lance Hunter, best sex I’ve ever had, tongue like magic – that’s what they’d all say, in case you were curious?”

“You’re a little full of yourself there.”

“I sense a challenge, and I never back down from a challenge.”

“I’d rather not break your super aquarium, just in case you’re right.”

“I could get us a hotel,” Lance offers, and for a second he can see her almost considering it.

Though there’s no eager kiss or quick taking of the offer. He tries not to let his pride get too wounded by that. “Let’s get through tonight first, then you can try blowing my mind.”

“I can work with that.”

\---

It’s hard to hear himself think over the loud thumping of the music. He’s certainly been to clubs like this before – hell maybe even _this_ club before – but never on a business related trip. Maybe if he was lucky and their lead turned out to be a dud, he could order a drink on the company credit card.

Just as he’s contemplating the drink menu though, Skye press her hand up against his arm, in a way that’s subtle enough to look flirtatious to outsiders.

“Yes, love?”

“Four seats down from us, don’t look too fast,” she replies, whispering the words directly into his ear so that only Lance can hear her.

He looks over her shoulder, hand curled up against her hips, so that it might look like he was casually scanning the bar, but instead his eyes settle on the finger at the end of the bar curled in on himself, with his fingers pressed tightly against an icy mug.

“How do you think this is going to go?”

“Badly,” Skye admits, “I’ll go talk to him first. You stand back and try to get the civilians out of the way when things go south?”

“Don’t you mean _if_?”

 She shakes her head, casting him one last glance, before slipping away from Lance and heading down the bar to where Donnie was sitting by himself.

He supposed it was true. Situations like this seldom go as easily as planned. In his head, it was simple enough. Get in, find the target, and subdue him, head back to HQ – and just like that it’s all sorted out.

Reality was more like a gun fight in the middle of a crowded club while the person they were fighting against turned the floors into ice. The sight of the drunk (and quite possibly high) partygoers slipping around on the ice might have been almost comical, had there not been the chance of the ice spreading to more than the floor. The only thing that could make this whole thing better was if the DJ (who was probably scared shitless) got the hint and started playing one of those techno ‘Let It Go’ remixes that he was sure existed.

Lance raises his voice to project so that the patrons of the club can hear him, “Everybody out!”

He’s not sure how well that works, but some people start moving towards the front door in a rush, and a back emergency exit gets thrown open as a flood of people pour out before the situation can get even more dangerous than it is. He distantly recognizes the bartender asking if they need help, but Lance waves him off and towards the door.

Perhaps they should have come with more backup. After all, Lance was far too qualified to be stuck on _damage control_ duties.

“Hunter, down now,” Skye’s voice cuts over the thumping music.

He ducks down just in time to save his face from turning into a wannabe Olaf, meanwhile the speaker behind him is now more of an ice sculpture.

“Donnie you don’t have to do this?” Skye’s the one talking him down, even though she’s shit at this (he’s probably worse) which means, Lance gets to be on _get everyone the fuck out of here_ duty. Not as fun as it sounds and certainly well below his paygrade.

“You’re working with them,” Donnie shouts back, “They, who did this to me. Who did what they did to you.”

“Nobody did anything to me,” Skye insists, “SHIELD helped me. Just like they would be happy to help you – _we_ would be happy to help you.”

“They’re using us, because we’re gifted, just like Hydra tried to use me. SHIELD isn’t any different.”

“Actually, mate, “ Lance interjects, because really this whole _still SHIELD_ thing is getting annoying, “We’re S.T.R.I.K.E., it’s a different group, a branch off, sort of,  it’s complicated.”

“Not helping, Hunter.”

“Don’t worry,” Donnie says, “I’ve heard all about your people. Why do you think I’ve been targeting your safe houses?”

“That is an excellent question and one which my team of highly trained interrogation specialists intend to figure out once we have you locked up somewhere safe,” Lance replies.

“You can’t make me go back,” Donnie says, in what’s probably meant to be some great finale statement. He’s using that dramatic tone of voice that people always do when making their declarations of intent. Why knew people with powers could become so predictable, after only so many years of being in known existence? “You either kill me like you tried to before, or you die.”

“I tried to be nice, but if that’s really what you want,” Skye says.

And that’s all he gets as warning before everything starts to shake – not a gentle tremor, like the feeling of standing on a subway tracks, but the sort of shaking where it feels like the world is tilting on end. Lance reaches out to grab onto something, anything to keep himself steady, but it doesn’t seem to matter because the only one still standing on her feet is Skye.

He had heard about her powers, seen them in action only briefly before the whole disappearing act, but enough to know vaguely what they entailed. But this – this was different, seeing her right in front of him with that level of control.

Well, Lance had always liked a woman in control. And he’d always had a bit of fondness for Skye. Combining the two, just seems like something that had been inevitable at this point.

He hardly was able to watch the fight between them, the gun in his hand and all his sharp shooting abilities, useless in comparison to two people with superhuman abilities going at each other.

Though he sees clearly enough when the ice darted out just too close to comfort to Skye, and the world settles and quickly as it had begun to shake.

Donnie is running out of the club, and while chasing him is clearly what he’s supposed to do, it’s what his job demands of him. It’s not what he needs to do.

What he needs to do is crouch down next to Skye, as he sees the anger in her eyes, and asks, “Is everything alright? Are you okay?”

\---

They’re in a hotel room because it felt like the best place to regroup. It was far away from HQ where Skye kept making worried jokes about the base turning into an ice skating rink and vague references to the movie _Ice Age_ (which was a terrible movie and should never be referenced while one is stripping). So it was probably the best place for them to figure out where to go from here.

At least, that was the excuse Lance had told himself when he swiped his S.T.R.I.K.E. credit card to pay for the night’s stay. All while Skye leaned up against him looking less like a fellow agent and more like a hired woman, if the desk attendant’s looks were anything to go by.

Now though, she’s stepping out of the shower, wearing nothing but a towel and any comment he might have had about regrouping seems to die on his lips at once.

“What is it?”

“I, you’re-” he stops, before he can make a fool of himself, “Did the warm water help with the frost bite?”

“It wasn’t frost bite,” she replies with a very dramatic eye roll, “But I’m fine.”

“Let me see.”

“I think you’re just looking for an excuse to get me to take this towel off.”

“What if I am?”

“Then you should just ask me to take the towel off,” Skye replies with a coy smile.

“Would you mind taking the towel off?”

That gets him a light laugh in return, not teasing, but playful, “There we go,” and just like that the towel is slipping off of her shoulders, “Now I seem to recall you saying something about a magical mouth and the ability to blow my mind?”

“Not worried you’ll bring the hotel down around us?”

“I’ll be impressed if you can make me rattle the pictures.”

He kisses her first, because he’s going to do this properly – this isn’t going to be drunk stress driven sex, but something she’ll remember. Lance likes to imagine that she’ll look back on this night later, laying in bed at wherever the Secret Warriors make their base, she’ll remember how he pushed her down onto the bed to bring their lips together in a kiss that’s just the slight bit aggressive.

Skye responds to the kiss with just as much passion, making a half hearted attempt to flip them so that she’s on top, and attempt that he stops by bringing her hands up over her head.

He pulls back after doing so a triumphant grin on his face, “Yes?”

“We’re you going to put your mouth to better use or just stare at me some more,” she says, in a voice that’s probably meant to be sarcastic but comes off a bit breathless. The pink splotches on her cheeks don’t help at all.

He presses a kiss to her shoulder, “I can’t help it, you’re so beautiful.”

She laughs at that, as though she doesn’t believe him. But her fingers are working at the button of his shirt, pushing it off his shoulders, being careful to remove his gun and holster as she goes. It’s languid and slow, and as she slowly strips him, his fingers ghost down from her shoulders to her breasts.

“There we go,” she replies, when his shirt is off and his pants unbuttoned, “Now, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“My pleasure,” he replies, kicking his pants off before moving down her, leaving kisses as he goes until he reaches her core.

Distantly he feels a vibration in the bed that is certainly not coming from him, and the distinct thump of a picture falling of the wall. He grins against her at the thought of what that must mean.

And Skye sensing his movement says, “Don’t even.”

Though she can’t say too much after that as he gets back to work pleasuring her.

He would have been content to just do this, but eventually the fingers tugging at his hair stop being playful, and turn demanding, and when he pulls back to meet her face, she’s flushed.

“Yes, love? Did you need something?”

The hand against his skulls hits at him slightly, as she struggles to catch her breath, before saying, “Fuck me.”

Lance has never been one to let a woman down in her time of need. And it wasn’t as though he could have resisted her even if he had wanted to.

\---

When he wakes up the next morning, he’s not hungover.

Which given the last two days, it’s a significant improvement. Another improvement, is the warm weight beside him, the soft breathing a Skye still asleep, though her fingers curl around his waist just a bit too tight for somebody that is entirely lost to dream land.

There’s a smile on her lips when he lowers his to kiss against them, though he gets barely any pressure in return.

The hotel room around them is in disarray. Skye’s wet towel from the night before abandoned on the floor, an end table which was knocked on its side after a series of _strange vibrations_ overtook the hotel. The pictures that she had teased him about knocking over are now all on the floor, one with visibly cracked glass.

“We made a mess,” Skye sleepily replies from the bed. “Guess you’re not getting that security deposit back.”

“Good thing I used the work card.”

She snorts, “Why am I not surprised?

When he turns back to look at her she’s sitting up, her short hair sticking about her head making her look a bit like a porcupine, an adorable porcupine, but still. While she tugs the bedsheet up in a poor attempt at a makeshift toga.

“You know, you could always come back to bed?”

“Mhmm, but I thought we had to be productive today?”

Lance groans, “Fuck productivity.”

And from the smile on Skye’s lips, he knows that he’s already won. Any second now she’ll lay back down, pull him towards her for a kiss and-

What would have been a very glorious and earth shaking round two is interrupted as the door of their hotel room falls flat on the ground as it opens. He doesn’t even have to look to know that the lock will have been iced over.

“Fuck me.” Lance mutters, and Skye has the nerve to roll her eyes at him.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” the intruder says, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Actually, mate-“

“How’d you find us?” Skye asks cutting off Lance’s incredibly important comment with one of her own.

“It wasn’t hard to find you,” Donnie explains, “With the whole building shaking, it was pretty obvious where you were hiding out.”

“Told you sex earthquakes were a thing,” Lance says.

“Yes, thank you,” Skye snaps, “Because that is super relevant right now.”

The makeshift toga she had made out of the sheets earlier is slipping down over her shoulder, and it makes her ‘serious business’ look seem a little bit weaker than usual. At least she’s wearing something more than briefs. He normally wouldn’t mind, Lance liked to think that he looked fucking great like this, but it left him a little bit unarmed.

His eyes darted over to the end table where he’d put his gun and shoulder holster, right before they’d gotten to it the night before.

Donnie following his gaze gives a warning of, “I wouldn’t if I were you.”

“What are you gonna do, mate. Turn me into a human Popsicle?”

“If I have to.”

“Donnie, what do you want,” Skye asks, “You’re killing all those people, going after us, for what? If you wanted to be left alone you could be, you could hide away and we wouldn’t come after you. The Secret Warriors promised you could get out at any time.”

“But what about them,” he accuses, finger darting out to point accusingly at Lance, who holds up his hands appealingly in return. “You’re still working for them, and if somebody steps out of line, you’ll just turn us in to SHIELD.”

“I actually don’t work for SHIELD anymore,” Lance insists, “We’re actually a group called S.T.R.I.K.E. and-”

“S.T.R.I.K.E. was Hydra,” Donnie says, and _oh_.

That’s what this was about it.

Apparently giving new management and a new HQ to a group which had formerly been slightly corrupt still had some downsides. He probably should have expected that.

“I hate to break it but we’re the good guys now.”

“I doubt that.”

“They are,” Skye insists. There’s a clear distinction there; _they_ not we, and Lance has never felt more separate from her than he does in that moment.

Relationally they both knew words wouldn’t work.

As Donnie steps forward, hands raised, ice gathering at the edge of his fingertips, Skye seems to move as well. The end table on the ground, the pictures that had been knocked off the wall, and what he was certain was her dress -  all flew towards Donnie, as a systemic burst of energy flew from her fingers.

It was an opening, on that Lance desperately needed and the second she had made her move, he vaulted up over the bed to where his trousers had been abandoned on the other side. Grabbing quickly at the holster that had been attached to his belt for the gun that he knew would be there.

He stood up quickly, and this time when Skye pushed with her powers again, he fired his gun, following the trajectory of her waves, so that his bullet with hit the target.

This time the person falling to the ground was Donnie, an ice-y blue color covering his face for a brief moment before his features smoothed out to something like sleep.

In the wreckage of their hotel room, it was finally over.

“Did you seriously just use the Night-Night gun?”

“Last time I checked it was called an ICER,” he says, waving the aforementioned gun about.

“I missed that thing,” Skye says, “Which is a weird thing to say about a weapon but…”

“I know what you mean,” Lance replies.

This is always his favorite part of missions, the end, when everything finally falls into place after days of going completely wrong. Lance can’t help the smile that involuntary finds its way onto his face, and a second later Skye’s mirroring him, her own relief at this being over clear as day.

He’s not sure which one of them moves first, but inevitably they move together. His hands grasping as her shoulders, as though to check and see that she was really there, before he’s kissing her like their lives depend on it (like they might  not have another change). Lance hadn’t realized how much he needed that, the human reassurance, until she was pressed up against him.

The kiss ends too soon for his liking, Skye pulling back, that grin from before still on her face, “This might not be the best place to continue with that train of thought.”

“Why not?” He asks, the words out of his mouth before his brain catches up.

“For one we’re standing the middle of a wrecked hotel room.”

“Technically that was your fault-“

“Also unconscious person on the floor?”

“Right, we should probably call HQ and-“

“That’s sounds like a great idea. I’ll get dressed, you do that.”

“Or we could-“

“No, too late now, I’m already putting on my pants.”

\---

And that’s it. The end, case closed.

Six years of this -  or five of this, and one of SHIELD – and he still never seems to be used to how unsatisfying the endings could be. Back when he had been a mercenary things had been different, missions had been exciting (likely to end in his death), but at the end there’d a hefty check in the bank and a night out for drinks with the gang while the celebrated being alive.

Now though, it was more or less a bunch of paperwork.

And Lance hated paperwork, almost as much as he hated inventory.

“Judy, can I quit?”

“No,” she informs him, handing him a bottle of water instead of something stronger and taking the paperwork away, “But you could take a break. Miss Johnson should be leaving soon, if you wanted to say goodbye.”

“She’s out of the infirmary already?”

“Apparently she heals fast.”

He had thought they’d have more time. Donnie had got her pretty good before he hit him with the night-night gun, and as much as he disliked seeing friends in pain, having Skye around a little longer was something he had been looking forward to.

Though things never ended up working out in his favor.

“You don’t happen to know where she is?”

“Observation deck 3,” Judy responds easily. She probably had all of that prepared, knew how predictable he would be. Definitely deserving of the pay raise that he was going to remember to give her later.

He nods his thanks to her, before slipping out of his office.

The walk to the observation deck isn’t a long one, but it gives him a moment to think.

He wants to ask Skye to stay. In part to be a consultant for S.T.R.I.K.E., but also for his sake. There’s just something about having Skye around that makes every day seem more worthwhile.

A feeling that returns to him again as he slips onto the observation deck.

Skye was right there where his assistant had said. This observation deck usually wasn’t crowded, so it was easily enough to pick out the lone figure in the room, laying on one of the couches as she appeared to watch a school of clown fish swim overhead.

“Rumor has it you’re leaving me?”

She must have known he was there, because she doesn’t act surprised in the slightest, “I have to go back to my team. They’re apparently lost without me to guide them.”

“I know the feeling.”

“Oh I don’t know,” she replies, lips quirking up into a smile, S.T.R.I.K.E. could probably keep running without you.”

“It wasn’t S.T.R.I.K.E. I was talking about.”

He probably shouldn’t have said that. The second the words left his mouth he wishes he could take them back. Saying too much too soon as always been his problem, the last woman he had been in a serious relationship with he’d proposed to after a month of dating. If Skye was to stick around here, he wasn’t completely certain that he wouldn’t make the same mistake.

And well, Skye wasn’t exactly the person to sit still for too long. That was one of the things he had liked about her, the flighty nature, it was fun and kept him on the edge of his toes. Though she must have felt so trapped here on the underwater base.

“This is nice,” she says, after a moment, words chosen slowly, and carefully with a slight frown on her face.

“The observation deck?”

“No not that. I mean, working together. Solving the mystery with you, or well letting or teammates solve the mystery and then going in there to get shit done,” Skye corrects, “It reminds me of before, back when we used to be a team. I mean, I miss everyone else. We should have a reunion or something, as long as Simmons makes sure not to touch me, and as long as we don’t invite Ward, I can’t see why we’d have any problems meeting up again. Solving mysteries like we used to, like we did this week.”

“We could do it again,” he offers, “Stick around a bit. I could use somebody with your abilities on the team, you’re really uh… groundbreaking?”

“That was a terrible attempt at a pun.”

Lance shrugs in her direction, “It wasn’t one of my best.”

“All of your puns are terrible, it’s a rule,” Skye insists, “You’re cursed to forever be the worst at puns.”

“My one true weakness,” he replies, but his joke seems to go flat. Skye’s lips only quirk weakly in reply, a pity smile at best.

They fall into silence once again. Not the sort of awkward stilted silence, but one of quiet understanding.

“I guess this is goodbye then,” Skye says, her eyes on the walls of the tank, turned away from him. It reminds him of the first time he brought her down here, days before, when she was less Skye and more Daisy and he had to slowly break through those walls to find the woman he remembered.

“You’re always welcome back,” he says, in reply, “Whenever you’re in town or even in the country. Just take a boat down, and we could get lunch or drinks?”

“Drinks would be best.”

“Drinks it is.”

They don’t say goodbye, not in the right words, but she turns over her shoulder for a brief moment, the blue glow of the water illuminating her face, and says, “You don’t have to stand there and watch me, I’m sure you’ve got important things to do.”

Hearing that, somehow feels easier, than hearing the usual goodbye.

“Yeah, I should get back to my paperwork,” he agrees, nodding his head once, even though she’s already turned back to the fish. He gives a half hearted, “Have a good flight back.” Before turning around and walking back towards the exit of the observation deck.

He nearly makes it there.

When her voice stops him.

“Lance.”

It’s her calling after him that stops him from walking away. That and the sound of footsteps behind him.

Perhaps he had made the wrong choice turning to go, women were ever cryptic, and maybe she had wanted him to stay.

Turning back, he can see that the Skye he knew long before was almost gone again. She didn’t hold herself like a civilian, but like a solider, at parade rest, like a leader. Her eyes were closed, but he could imagine for a second the passion there. This was the person everyone kept calling _Daisy Johnson_.  

Which is probably why he pointedly uses her name, the name he’d known her by, when he replies, “Yes, Skye?”

“Do people really call you that,” she asks, “Lance?”

“Close friends sometimes, my parents do obviously but-“

“Lance is a little bit pretentious.”

“You’ve called me that before,” he replies.

“I have,” she agrees, before returning to her original point, the reason she stopped him from waking away. She walks closer to him with each word that she says, “You’re a good guy, Lance Hunter.”

“Nobody’s ever called me _that_ before.”

“Yeah, well, I only just now realized it myself,” Skye admits, in a shrug that breaks the character she’s built up once more.

He’s not really surprised when she crosses the space between them to bring their lips together. A soft kiss, lacking the passion and playfulness of the ones they had shared in that hotel room. It’s a serious kiss, the sort of kiss one uses to say goodbye.

Instinctively he grabs onto her shoulders to hold her close, and attempt to deepen the kiss, but before that can happen, she pulls back with a smile on her lips. “I’ll see you again, Commander Hunter, you count on that.”

\---

He’s probably having a midlife crisis.

Or well, he’s just about to.

Because he doesn’t deserve this. He’s worked long and hard through a series of careers with various ranges of sketchiness, and somehow it all amounted to this.

No way was this the end of the line for Lance Hunter. There had to be something better than standing in the middle of a cornfield looking at what was textbook alien crop circles and trying to come up with some sort of explanation for the concerned masses. At least, he was going to find whichever idiotic intern or new agent of theirs had thought this was a good idea.

At least when he’d been a mercenary he never had to deal with coming up with excuses, he just shot at people until they stopped trying to shoot him. Much more logical.

Press conferences were by far the worst part of his job.

Worse than paperwork or inventory or that one time he exploded his soda all over the glass walls of his office and Judy refused to let him hire a cleaning crew to make the glass clear again.

Though perhaps even in the midst of the world’s worst press conferences there could be _something_ good to come out of it.

He’s probably never been happier than he has in the moment Judy turns to him, with words that seem almost familiar.  “Commander Hunter, there’s a Daisy Johnson of Secret Warriors here to see you with information about the Miller Farm incident?

He turns, and there she is, looking just like he remembered her. The hair a bit longer this time, brushing against her shoulders as she tilts her head to the side to get a good look at him.

God, he’d missed her.

“You know, I’m never going to get used to that name change.”

“You’ll get over it, _Lance_. After all, last time I checked, you owe me a drink.”

 


End file.
